For Reason and Love are Sworn Enemies
by antagonise-me
Summary: When a case becomes personal, the affected member of the CBI has to step down. For Teresa Lisbon, this is more than difficult, as she battles to find the truth about her family, her past, and her best friend Patrick Jane.   Please review!
1. Prologue

_Hello there, this is my first post on this website, and I apologise, it is not very long at all. I guess from this you can possibly see where my story is going, whether or not you'd like to continue following it, the style in which I write and whatnot. This is just a mini kind of prologue- my story will advance from here and I hope you will have enough faith in me and the characters, whom I have tried to remain as OC as possible. Please let me know if there are any errors or adjustments you think I should make, I would be so grateful!_

_Disclaimer- The Mentalist obviously belongs to the wonderful Bruno Heller. I do not own any of the characters, not even Patrick, much to my disappointment. _

_I ship Jisbon, if you have a strong loathing for anything related to this, don't waste your time reading it. There will be different subplots dotted throughout, so it won't purely be based on one topic, but it's really your choice on whether you'd like to read it or not._

_Anyway, on with the story!_

**Prologue**

Patrick Jane collapsed onto his sofa, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in deep concentration. Untamed thoughts were darting through his brilliant mind, leaving everything a little hazy in their wake. CBI head-quarters were, as usual, bustling and noisy, leaving him little peace to still his erratic state of mind. Along the hall, phones were ringing- uniformed detectives striding around with heavy, important looking portfolios in their arms: the life story of the latest criminal to grace their attention. The sound was a persistent buzz, taunting him. Occasionally, someone would walk past and look at him reprovingly; reprimanding him for his apparent ease, lounging on a sofa whilst around him work and reality remained constant. Patrick was far from at ease. If they could even comprehend the harsh reality he faced every single day of his life, they would realise he lived not in a relaxed, casual dream-world but a world of regret, self-torture and agony. Sighing, Patrick swung his legs from the floor and propped them up onto the arm of the sofa so he was lying horizontally. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to drift away from everything, to find sleep somewhere in the torment. It would be so pleasant to just lie there and float up into nothingness, as dreamless slumber consumed him-

"Jane. McHearty case: the girls' father was up at a bar in Richmond on the night of the murder, and his alibi seems legit, so I guess that's him off the list of suspects. We still have to check out the friend though. Jane?"

Hearing an impatient sigh and feeling a glare penetrate his lids, Patrick half opened his eyes to squint up at his boss. Teresa Lisbon leaned over him, arms folded, disgruntled at his lack of motivation.

"Oh. Okay." He smiled at her innocently; feeling her grow ever more frustrated as he once again closed his eyes and waited for a reaction from the increasingly aggravated woman before him.

Her response was to flick him sharply on the side of his nose, making him flinch and mutter an "ouch" in protest. He opened his eyes to see Lisbon poised, ready to strike out again. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, swung his legs over the side of the sofa and practically leaped into a standing position. Swaying, he blinked and grasped Teresa's shoulder for support.

"Ah, got up too fast. Sorry, just wait for a minute, stay still while I-"

Lisbon scowled up at him impatiently, tapping her foot. After a few moments, balance regained, Patrick beamed at her and released her shoulder. She grimaced and rubbed it, still feeling the burn of his fingers through the fabric from the force of his grip.

"There, much better." He smiled at her again. She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, trying to ignore the fact that her heart was pounding ruthlessly inside her chest. '_Shut up' _her brain whispered furiously. Grabbing her jacket, she slung it over her shoulders and stalked out of the office, unaware that Patrick Jane was watching her curiously as she left.


	2. Chapter 1

_Hello again. I apologise for the wait, GCSE's catching up with me, hope you understand!  
>I'd just like to say a huge thank you to people who have read, subscribed to or reviewed the story, I love hearing your feedback so as always it's a pleasure! Please review if you get the chance!<em>

Unfortunately I do not own Patrick Jane or anything to do with The Mentalist. *sinks into deep depression*

_Anyway, this is where the ball begins to roll. And I've rewarded you with a rather lengthy chapter too. Enjoy!_

Teresa Lisbon reached the elevator and stabbed the button in frustration. Around her, the incessant phone ringing and bustle of people only managed to add to her grumpiness. '_Fine.'_ She thought to herself. _'If he doesn't want to come with me to help, he can stay here. It doesn't make a difference to me. He can just stay on his god damn couch for all I care.' _ As the doors opened, her mobile rang, intruding on her thoughts.

"Agent Lisbon, CBI."

"Lisbon? It's Hightower. I've just been updated with the latest on the Lauren McHearty case. Apparently the guy who provided Don McHearty's alibi wasn't reliable. Just last night he was caught up in a drug-trafficking incident, we had to bring him in for questioning. If we can't trust him on that then we can hardly trust him with an alibi, so looks like you'll have to question him after all."

Suppressing a groan, Lisbon grimaced and rolled her eyes as the elevator doors closed before she could step in. '_Fantastic, more case reports._' Her boss was still talking.  
>"-so really Mr McHearty is the priority now. He lied about his alibi, so chances are he's lying about something else. I'll leave it with you and the team. Rigsby will question McHearty with you. Make sure Jane stays out of trouble."<p>

And with her usual warning, Hightower ended the call, just as Rigsby rounded the corner and almost collided into Lisbon, stopping short just in time.  
>"Glad I caught you. I'm gonna help you and Jane question Don McHearty. He's supposedly a bit of an aggressive one, and Jane isn't the best when it comes to confrontations... Where is Jane, anyway?"<p>

"I can handle it by myself; I don't need-"Lisbon began to interrupt defensively, ignoring the question. Rigsby stopped her hurriedly.

"Look, if Hightower says so, it happens. New boss and everything, don't want to annoy her any more than is necessary, right?" He grinned at her and pressed the elevator button, the doors sliding open immediately. "So isn't Jane coming?"

Shrugging her shoulders in an attempt at indifference, Lisbon stepped into the elevator, Rigsby behind her. "He's being stupid, just leave him." Poking at the button that would take them to the ground floor, she stared stonily at the doors as they began to close, shutting off the world of the busy headquarters.

Just before the doors could close completely, Patrick Jane scooted around the corner and shoved his hand between the doors, preventing them from shutting. Prising them open again, he acknowledged Rigsby's disbelieving stare and Lisbon's irritable one, beamed at them both, and settled himself between them, straightening his suit as he did so.

"I changed my mind. You obviously need me on this case", he stated by means of explanation. Lisbon sighed sceptically and turned her head away, trying to hide her amusement at the fully grown man who had just launched himself into the elevator. Rigsby shook his head, bemused.

"What?" Jane asked innocently, eyes wide. Lisbon smacked him on the arm, for her own satisfaction than anything else. He frowned at her, clutching it. "Rude." He nudged her with his elbow, earning him a challenging stare. Catching Rigsby's eye, he pulled a face that said '_someone's moody_' and as the elevator doors slid open as they reached the ground floor, bounded out like an excitable terrier. Behind him, Rigsby and Lisbon exchanged weary glances, mentally preparing themselves for an afternoon with their impossible consultant.

It was a warm, sunny day in Santa Rosa. The sun beat down upon the team as they slammed the doors on their vehicle and proceeded towards the neglected caravan site they had been directed to. As they passed a market, colourful and vibrant, Jane strolled off a different direction, heading towards the stalls filled with fruits. Stopping at the sound of Rigsby's "erm... boss?", Lisbon turned and sighed, watching as Patrick pondered over a basket of shining green apples, digging into his pocket as he did so. Handing coins to the woman behind the stall, he flashed a delighted smile and picking three apples, practically skipped back towards the two, eyes twinkling mischievously.

Raising her eyebrows, Lisbon hid her elation as Patrick bowed ostentatiously and presented her with an apple, shiny and perfect in his cupped hand. She took it and shook her head at him, smiling. Throwing the second apple to Rigsby, who caught it, grinning, he bit into his own apple and an expression of utter happiness crossed his face. Watching him, Teresa Lisbon found herself wishing that she had the ability to make that expression appear on his face, if only for a moment. It was bliss, pure and simple, and she longed to experience that emotion directed towards her, happiness, delight and adoration.

_No._

She cleared her straying thoughts from her head and continued onwards, towards the shadowy, secluded lane that would inevitably lead them towards the home of Mr Don McHearty. Rigsby followed her, Jane trailing a little behind.

Approaching the neglected house belonging to the victim and her father, Lisbon went over the details of the case in her mind. Don McHearty, father of Lauren McHearty, a 19 year old girl murdered three days ago. Her body was left on the Spring Creek Trail, east of Lake Ralphine. There was evidence of sexual assault on her body and it was apparent there had been a struggle. Lauren had been returning from a restaurant named Checkers in the centre of Santa Rosa, where she worked 5 nights a week to support her and her drunken father.

Lisbon groaned. How could she have forgotten? She was questioning a drunk. An aggressive drunk, if what Rigsby had told her was true. '_Brings back memories', _she thought, gritting her teeth. Reaching the caravan, she clasped her fingers round her gun holster for comfort and strode up to the door, Rigsby close behind her. Patrick was loitering aimlessly a few steps back. Weapons made him nervous, Lisbon knew. Clenching her fist, she rapped on the door firmly.

"Mr McHearty? We're from the California Bureau of Investigation; can we ask you a few questions please?"

Silence. Glancing warningly at Rigsby, who had drawn his gun and was looking around suspiciously, Lisbon raised her hand and knocked the door again.

A low grunt was heard from behind the door. Lisbon paused and looked at Rigsby, who kicked the door without hesitation. It flung open. The dingy interior was dark apart from a few dim lights, and the overpowering stench of alcohol almost made her retch as she peered into the gloom. She could remember that smell. Every few nights her father would appear from the drunken abyss he'd been wallowing in, dishevelled, and aged well before his time. He would carry that smell with him wherever he went, leaving it lingering on her long after he'd gone. She knew it only too well, and she had no desire to ever experience it again.

Yet here she was. Rigsby went on ahead of her, becoming submerged in the dusty darkness almost as soon as he stepped through the door. Jane waited behind her- she could feel his eyes on her back. Taking a breath, she turned and acknowledged him.

"What?"

That curious expression, those searching blue-green eyes analysed her. She felt as though she were underneath a magnifying glass for those few short moments. He could sense her unease.

"Nothing. Ladies first?" Gesturing into the gloom, he offered her a reassuring smile as she stepped into the house and was consumed by the murky smoke and stench of alcohol. Catching Rigsby's eye, he motioned towards the back room. The low, drunken snores of a man who had lost everything shattered the silence.

Following the noise, Lisbon made her way through old newspapers and empty bottles. Don McHearty obviously wasn't in any fit state to tidy up now that his daughter was gone. The room practically oozed hopelessness, and Lisbon momentarily found herself pitying the creature that inhabited such a ramshackle house all on his own. He had no-one.

She snorted, disgusted with herself. For all she knew, he could've been the person who murdered Lauren McHearty. It was unprofessional of her to allow pity to cloud her vision. It was also unprofessional of her to let her past dictate her attitude, but she pushed that thought aside. Patrick was studying the dusty photographs arranged on the mantelpiece; evidence of a time when the moments of this man's life needed to be captured, saved forever.

"Boss." Rigsby's voice rang through the house like an alarm, startling her. Returning from her reverie, she moved towards him and looked in the direction he was gesturing.

A man lay slumped, fast asleep on a moth-eaten armchair. His clothes were filthy and faded- he looked as though he had aged with the house, like he hadn't moved in months. Empty bottles were scattered around him, evidence of his downfall. The smell coming from him was putrid, and covering her nose with one hand to quell the stench, she realised she still had the apple in her other. Frowning down at it, green and flawless, so wondered how she hadn't realised it was there before. It was the only definitive colour in this desolate space, and it somehow brightened the room, lifted the shadows. The man in the armchair shifted slightly, and Lisbon glanced at him with repulsion. She had no time for drunks. The dark circles under his eyes and haggard features reminded her of the man she had sworn to forget, but at the same time, he reminded her of someone. Don McHearty. Not a name she had heard before, and not a name she was likely to forget, had she already heard it. But somewhere back in the recessed cavities of her mind she knew his face, she had seen it before. A sense of recognition for this pathetic mess slouched on his chair alarmed her, and she stepped back involuntarily.

From the corner of the room, Patrick Jane watched her. He studied her face as he had studied the faces of those on the photographs, hidden from light but so natural, so human. He frowned slightly as she stepped back with a look of realisation on her face, wondering what could've caused her reaction. Biting her lip, he watched her regard the sleeping man on the chair. She looked worried, the creases of a frown present on her forehead, and Patrick wished he could do something to remove that expression on her face permanently. It was an expression of distress, conflict and loss. He knew all about loss. He smirked dryly. It wasn't funny. He could help her there.  
><em>'She'll never let me in.'<em> A slow fear rose up in Patrick's mind as he realised Teresa Lisbon would never accept help from anyone, and would never allow that troubled expression to permanently leave her face. She would suffer in silence, as she always had, and that concerned him. She looked so worried, and not for the first time in his life, Patrick Jane felt completely and utterly helpless.

She knew him from somewhere. She was sure of it, but the question was, where? She certainly didn't have a habit of conversing with drunks, so it couldn't have been anyone she was on speaking terms with. But those features, that face stirred up something deep in her memory which worried her deeply, and she wasn't certain why, which of course worried her even more.

Watching Rigsby lower his gun, Lisbon attempted to make contact with McHearty. "Sir, could you wake up please?"

This achieved nothing but for the man to twitch and begin snoring even louder than before. Irritated, Lisbon raised her voice and tried again.  
>"Mr McHearty? We're with the CBI. We'd like to question you. Excuse me?"<p>

The man on the armchair refused to acknowledge her, and feeling a growing annoyance that she couldn't quite explain, Lisbon was about to raise her arm and inflict him some sort of physical pain. Before she could however, Jane stepped in front of her, leaned forward; fingers poised, and flicked the man sharply on the end of his bulbous nose.

Catching Lisbon's reproving look, Jane shrugged and explained. "You did it to me..."

Rolling her eyes, Lisbon was about to reprimand him on the grounds of 'attacking a suspect' but he raised his hands in mock surrender with a hasty "well, it worked didn't it?"

Sure enough, Don McHearty shifted, and blearily opened his eyes. He didn't seem surprised to see three strangers in his house, and hauling himself up, he rubbed his face, muttering "God damn cops, god damn 'em all." Noticing their eyes upon him, he sighed resignedly and acknowledged them.

"Whadd-ya want? An' what d'ya think ya doin' creepin' up on me like that, I'll 'av yer, you cops, I'll 'av all of yer..."

And with that, Don McHearty began to mutter gruffly under his breath, stumbling over words and ranting about apparently nothing. He was evidently still very drunk.  
>"Mr McHearty, can we ask you some questions? It's about your daughter, Lauren."<p>

At Lisbon's words the man stopped mid-sentence and stared at her as if she'd gone completely mad. Dead, unseeing eyes. Lisbon knew those eyes. She had seen them before.

"Lauren...? You wanna talk 'bout my Lauren? She ain't here. She ain't coming back. She's gone. My girl's gone. Dead."

Patrick spoke up from behind her. "Lauren McHearty. She was beautiful, no doubt. A beautiful girl with her future ahead of her, and she was bringing in money for you, wasn't she? A model daughter." He was looking at Lisbon pointedly, but she failed to pick up on it due to the sudden jealousy clouding her mind. _'Beautiful? Well, she was okay looking, I guess. Wouldn't say she was 'beautiful', unless you like that kind of thing...'_

No. Professionalism. Ignore Jane. He's irritating.

Waiting until she trusted herself to speak, she made another attempt. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Sir, but if it's okay we need to just-"

"SHE'S DEAD. SHE AIN'T COMING AN' YOU CAN'T SPEAK TO 'ER, YOU CAN'T EVER SPEAK TO 'ER, SHE WAS KILLED. MY GIRL WAS KILLED AND IT'S NOT OKAY, SHE'S GONE, MY LAUREN'S GONE AN' IT'S ALL MY FAULT." At this, Don McHearty, the shell of a man, the ghost of a father, completely broke down. He put his head in his hands and he wept for the loss of his daughter.

Rigsby turned away, embarrassed. Jane looked uncomfortable as he tried to fix his gaze anywhere but on the weeping man in front of him. Lisbon sighed: it was up to her. It was always up to her.

Walking closer to the armchair, she stood and looked down at the man who was so familiar. She spoke calmly, gently, so as not to provoke the uproar she had just caused.

"Mr McHearty, why is it your fault?"

No answer. She looked to Rigsby for guidance, but he was looking firmly away. Patrick had gone back to studying the photographs in the room. She was completely alone.  
>"Mr McHearty, if you know anything that could help us, we can start looking for the person who killed your daughter."<p>

She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It was a mistake. Without warning McHearty grabbed her in a vice-like grip and clung to it, standing up and swinging her round to face him. He leaned towards her and leered at her, words spitting curses from his mouth, stinging her face. His breath was so familiar to her, the stench of alcohol and filth, that for a moment it sent her back to when she was 9 years old as her father stood, screaming abuse at her for no reason at all. In her mind's eye she pictured him raising his arm and pushing her away, as one might swat a fly. The force of it flung her against the wall she had been pressed up against. She'd sat there gazing up at a man she no longer knew, wondering what she had done to make him hate her so much. Flinching, she stared up into the face she recognised, and in her thoughtful state had no time to react.

Rigsby however had done quite the opposite. As soon as McHearty started to move, he raised his gun and pointed it straight as McHearty's head with a quiet, simple warning. "If you touch her, you're going to be on the floor, and you may or may not be breathing when you land."

Releasing her hand, Don McHearty turned, disgusted, away from Lisbon. She stumbled and felt Patrick's hand on the small of her back. It was a small gesture, but she lit up from the warmth it brought her. Her momentary lapse had gone; in its place was a ruthless officer of the law who had just been assaulted, someone who didn't let personal issues stand in her way of anything, least of all a vile creature like this.

Straightening, she looked up to find Rigsby had pinned McHearty to the wall. In his drunken state, he could barely stand, instead lolled with his head against the worn plaster, looking tired and old once more. Rigsby grimaced as he handcuffed him and led him out of the house. "You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer with intent to threaten her and cause her potential harm, anything you do or say-"

His words trailed off into the distance as he moved out of the doorway, leaving Lisbon and Jane standing alone in the house. Moving towards her, Patrick placed his hands on Lisbon's arms and looked down at her with concern. "Are you okay?"

Ignoring her heart, which was beating at an inconsistent rhythm against her chest, she forced a smile and looked into his eyes, willing herself not to break. "I'm fine."  
>Her heart thumped repeatedly, and Lisbon attempted to make herself believe that the reason was because of the shock of being assaulted, rather than the curly haired consultant who was leading her gently from the house. He seemed to care so much. That thought warmed her to the core, and made all her troubles seem a million years away.<p>

_Hope you're enjoying so far. Please please please can I remind you to review, it's the little things that make me want to keep writing and your reviews would really help!_


	3. Chapter 2

_Me again. This is just a short chapter detailing the events after Lisbon's assault. I originally opted not to put it in, but I think it further establishes the relationship between Lisbon and Jane and honestly, who can blame me for wanting more Patrick in my story?  
>So yes, this is a small yet crucial chapter, and as usual I own nothing.<em>

_One more thing: guys, you don't know how much I appreciate you reading this. Literally, I have had so many visitors on this story, and it really brings a smile to my face to see that you're choosing to read what I have created. Soppy stuff over, but genuinely, make my day and please review._ _I got no reviews on the last chapter and I spent a lot of time on it. This saddens me slightly, so please show your support and REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. :-)_

"So, if you were about to fall off a cliff, and the only chance you had of survival was to hold my hand and trust me to pull you back up, would you do it?"

"Jane, I'm busy."

"But would you? Come on, you know you would. You're about to _die _here, if course you would."

"Busy."

"I would trust you to pull me back up, if I were-"

"JANE. BUSY."

His amused smile confirmed he knew he was annoying her. Dodging the scrunched up ball of paper that Lisbon had launched at him, Patrick continued to aggravate his boss, much to her irritation.

"I'm not talking about a small cliff here, no. I'm talking a HUGE cliff, I'm talking a MASSIVE drop, I mean, I'm talking-"

"You're talking crap, Jane. Now shut up, I'm trying to read this case file, and if you interrupt me one more time, I will PUSH you off the damn cliff."

Feigning a hurt expression, Patrick walked around Lisbon's desk and peered over her shoulder. The picture of Lauren McHearty's father stared up at them, unseeing, blinded by alcohol and the ghosts that haunted him from the loss of his daughter.

"He didn't do it." His tone was confident, that arrogant-yet-endearing air he always assumed when making a statement about a case. "The girl's father? Obvious choice, sure, but inaccurate."

Aggravated, Lisbon turned to face him. "Oh yeah? He's a drunk, Jane. _He _probably wouldn't know whether he'd done it. When you drink to that extent you don't give a damn about what's going on around you, you just act and react and everything else becomes a blurred mess. He could've killed her, he looks good for it and so I'm charging him, okay?"

"Okay, but he didn't do it." That arrogant air again. Lisbon could've stood up and punched him in the face. Instead she sat forward and pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to quell the migraine which was threatening to explode in her head. "He didn't do it because he's a drunk. He's desperate, poor and lonely and the only person bringing in any income for the both of them was his daughter. He wouldn't kill her. If he killed her, how would he buy the alcohol needed to sustain his addiction? He drinks because in his eyes, there's nothing else to live for."

"He did have something to live for though, didn't he? He had a daughter. He had someone who cared for him and looked after him even though he was a pathetic mess. He had someone who gave a DAMN about who he was and what he was doing to himself." Her anger was beginning to show, but she couldn't control herself. Her words continued to fall from her mouth freely, as though her brain wasn't quite registering what to say before she said it. Her defensiveness rang out from every word she said, the hurt in her voice not quite masking her inner fury at a man who could've made things better, if only he had tried.

When she came finished her outburst, she noticed Jane was looking at her in a strange way. Lisbon always felt as though he could see right through her- she was transparent to him, as easy as a book to read and interpret. That thought scared her now, as she realised how much she had said, and how much she should've left unspoken. Patrick's all-seeing stare was penetrating her mind, probing it for any further thoughts. "We_ are _still talking about the girl's father, aren't we?" He didn't have to ask. He knew the answer already. Lisbon stared her desk until she felt him leave her office, not knowing what else to say. She had said enough.


	4. Chapter 3

_Hello hello hello! Me again, back with another chapter! I am pleased to see lots of visitors and even more pleased to see some new reviews. Please keep them coming, I am so grateful for each and every one of them. Thanks for all your support._

_So here I am with an apology-in-advance, if you will. I'm going on holiday soon so alas, I will be unable to update for about a week. HOWEVER. Have faith. I shall be returning to you shortly, but in the meantime, enjoy this chapter!_

_Disclaimer- Almighty Bruno Heller owns all. I am merely an avid fan with internet connection and a creative imagination._

Peering over the photo of Don McHearty again, Lisbon squinted her eyes and rotated the image. He definitely looked like someone she recognised, maybe someone from her childhood, someone she couldn't quite place. Those eyes, vague and pale, his chin, grizzled from lack of shaving and lack of care. She knew he was relevant. She just didn't know why.

Without warning, her memories opened up a barrier and a torrent of unwanted recollections came pouring out. An article about a tragic motor accident that had gotten completely out of hand, a photo of a dark-haired little girl, crying into a bunch of flowers as she stood beside a grave in a black cotton dress that gently touched the floor, a picture of the convicted man, the man who had robbed her of so much.

Closing the case-file with a resounding thump, her heart pounded in her ears. She couldn't breathe. She was drowning in a thousand thoughts, each one more bewildering than the one before. It was as if a weight was crushing her, pushing her, leading her to collapse. She took a sharp intake of breath as her persistent thoughts lead her to realisation. It was _him. _She remembered his face from the newspaper cuttings all those years ago, and a montage of memories flashed before her eyes as if she was seeing them for the first time, watching them through high definition. It somehow made them so much more present, real and alive.

* * *

><p><em>A 12 year old girl stands, clutching the hands of her two younger brothers, whilst another plays on the floor behind her, oblivious to the broken family he is now a part of. Two police officers stand in front of the little girl, who has long thick hair which curls into a fringe, framing her face, almost hiding her expression. Grief. Her once open, honest appearance becomes drawn and strained in an effort to keep a strong front for the sake of her siblings. A weariness way beyond her years settles behind her eyes and in that moment, she is no longer a child. <em>

_Although her ears can block out the rest of the officer's speech, her mind cannot deceive her of what she has already heard. Haunting words that she will remember for the rest of her life ring true and unfeeling. Sensing a tug on her hand, she masks her thoughts and looks down into the wide brown eyes of her brother, staring up at her with confusion. The officer pauses and looks at her, weariness and heart-felt grief is reflected in his expression. _

"_Reecy, why are these men here? What do they want?" Such sincerity in the eyes of someone so young almost breaks her. Forcing a smile, she buries her emotions and addresses her oldest brother. He wouldn't understand. They're all so young. Too young to understand reason, too young to realise, too young to experience loss. But loss had fallen upon them like a tonne weight, shattering their family. In that second, a 12 year old Teresa Lisbon realises she has to be the one to pick up the pieces. _

"_These men are telling us that Mommy's gone away for a little while, and we won't see her for some time." She says it almost too brightly; if her brothers had been older they would've recognised the falsity of her intonation. As it were, they regarded her trustingly and with utter faith. Swallowing, Teresa pushes away the urge to break down into sobs, and gets a hold on herself, for them, if for nothing else. Not here, not now._

"_W-where's she gone? Why can't we see her?" Her brother James has piped up, panic and uncertainty etched in his eyes. She strokes his hand comfortingly and he relaxes, though she can tell his thoughts are still racing. _

"_She's just a bit busy, that's all. So I'll look after you all now, that'll be fun, won't it? We can play all kinds of games together, and Mommy won't be here to tell us off!" She bites her lip, fighting back the tears which threaten to fall. Behind her, her youngest sibling Joshua starts to whimper. Turning, she picks him up and sits him on her hip. She will have to get used to this. _

_The officers' faces are full of concern. "Miss, it's not your duty to look after your brothers. You have a duty of care only to yourself- you're far too young to hold responsibility over children so small. Where's your dad?" _

_The truth? 'My father is a juvenile drunkard with little or no respect for himself or anyone else. We see him about once a week, and when we do I am subjected to brutality and violence by his hand, usually because he refuses to blame himself for the way he is, so chooses to blame me instead.'_

"_My dad? He's.. well, he's just.. I.." Seeing the officers narrow their eyes, she panics and gushes, the words tumbling out her mouth. Lies, lies, lies. "My dad is just a little busy with work at the moment, he works for a law company so there's a lot of papers and he usually spends most of his time at work, but he comes home every night to see us and usually he brings us presents and makes us all dinner. I can handle my brothers until when he gets home, so really, it's fine." _

_She daren't look down at Tommy. She can sense his mouth is agape at this blatant lie from his big sister. He knows the truth. She knows the truth. But where does the truth get you? Nowhere at all._

_A 12 year old girl sits alone in her bedroom. Tears fall down her face, wasted emotion on something that will never ever change. Her brothers are all asleep, blissfully unaware of the waking nightmare that is looming on their doorstep. Scrunching up her duvet in an effort to prevent herself from howling in agony, like a wounded animal, she stares into the blackness around her. The ache is a physical pain in her chest, only experienced by the loss of someone so close. Her protector. Her best friend. Her mother. The only person in the world who could keep her safe from __him__. And now she is gone. Now there is no one to keep her safe. Now she is alone._

* * *

><p>A car accident. That's all it was. A drink driver collided with a pedestrian on a road and killed her instantly. There was no pain. Paramedics rushed to help the woman, but it was far too late. The car was long gone, but they later caught the driver and he was sentenced to 5 years in prison. 5 years.<p>

He must have changed his name when he came out of prison. God knows how he could afford it. He could change his identity but couldn't change what he truly was. He came out of prison and sponged off his daughter for money simply because he was too much of a mess to do anything else: a man who had made terrible decisions, whose vehicle had collided into her mother before he drove away and left her to die. A drunk. A murderer.

Lisbon thumped her fist on the table in anger. People walking past the office looked at her, alarmed, but she was too busy watching the aftermath of her hit- the desk, trembling underneath her clenched fist. Cause and effect. Everything happens for a reason; sometimes the reason is unclear, others it is as clear as polished crystal. Simplicity seemed so far away, and she'd do anything just to get away from it all...

"Tea." A gentle voice startled her from her reverie. Glancing up, she saw Jane entering her office, a cup of tea in his hand and a concerned expression on his face. She mimicked his look of confusion as he watched her, puzzled, and knew it was only a matter of time before he came to question her sudden lapse of concentration.

"You look like death. What happened?" Taking the seat opposite, Patrick leant forward casually, placed the tea in front of her and clasped his hands around his knee as he sat back, waiting. She sighed heavily and watched him with disdain. He knew.

"Nothing happened. I just had a head rush. Must've been up on my feet too long, dehydration, I don't know. Either way I'm fine."

Jane cocked his head to the side. '_He looks like a curious puppy-dog'_, she thought to herself, infuriated by his questioning. She didn't need this, she was fine. He smiled at her winningly and she found herself distracted by it, if only momentarily, before proceeding to glare at her teacup challengingly, as if it were the one probing her. She was furious with him for being able to do that to her. _Leave me alone, I don't want you to talk to me or smile at me or bring me cups of tea; I just want to be left alone._

He was still regarding her with that exasperating expression. "Why do you do that?" He was attempting to read her, she could tell.  
><em><br>_"Do what?" Lisbon was aware she was behaving like a sulky teenager, but her thoughts and memories about her past were something she never shared with anyone, let alone her consultant Patrick Jane, obsessive revenge-seeker and over all annoyance.

"You shut people out. You realise people are getting too close to the truth and so you raise your guard, preventing them from getting any closer. You shouldn't do that, it's bad for your mental stability."

Lisbon suppressed a snort. Patrick Jane was lecturing her on mental stability. She managed to give him one more derisive glare before he was up and leaving her office with the trace of a smile on his face. Once he was gone, her office felt strangely quiet, the echo of his words still present in her ears, the ghost of his smile sitting behind her eyes. Shaking her head furiously, she banished her traitorous thoughts and opened the McHearty case file, ready to be consumed by hatred for the man who had robbed her of her childhood, her happiness and her mother.


	5. Chapter 4

_WOW, it has been months since I last updated, and for that I am so so so sorry! GCSE'S are all finished with, I get my results on August 23rd and dreading it, but still, it means I can continue writing again! I'm also moving schools so that's why there has been some delay with new chapters etc- a lot going on at the moment, I hope you can forgive me and enjoy this chapter, even though it's only a little one! _

_I adore Cho, he is one of my favourite characters and I reaaaally hope I got his character about right in this chapter! There's going to be more from him and the team soon, so never fear. _

_Please continue to review and let me know what you think so far, I promise the next chapter will be longer than this, and we can start to see the relationship between Jane and Lisbon blossom into something 'a little more'? _

_THANK YOU FOR YOUR LOYALTY TO THE STORY AND FOR YOUR PATIENCE, I'LL SHUT UP NOW :-)_

* * *

><p>"She's acting weird, and it's not good for the team, let alone when we're solving a case like this. You guys weren't there when she was assaulted- I <em>saw <em>her face. She was terrified." Rigsby sat around the table with his pretty red-headed colleague, pressing a matter of importance upon the team. Kimball Cho sat apart from them, tapping away at a computer with his trademark deadpan expression.

"I'm not okay with this. If Lisbon gets hurt this whole case goes under, and she gets dragged along with it." Grace Van Pelt bit her lip concernedly and looked Rigsby, whom with the enthusiasm of an excitable puppy wholeheartedly agreed with her.

"Well yeah exactly, I completely agree, I mean we can see it's affecting her, and who can blame her, with what happened to her mom?"

Van Pelt rolled her eyes at this all-too-obvious attempt to get on her good side and pursued the matter, pressing her point to Cho, who, as usual remained impassive.

"We can't let her go through with this. The case, I mean. It'll rip her up. God knows what it's like to lose a parent in that way, and she was so young... we can't-"

"I agree with Grace." Rigsby piped up again hopefully. Van Pelt gave him a long suffering scowl until he wilted under her gaze and sat back in his seat resignedly. The three agents drifted into their own thoughts, only disturbed by the sound of footsteps and the tinkling of china which informed them that Patrick Jane was in the process of making tea. The moment of contemplation gone, Grace Van Pelt tucked her hair behind her ears and sighed emphatically, before leaving her desk and making her way to the kitchenette, towards the promising sound of action. Rigsby stared after her longingly, storing in his memory the way she moved, the way she talked, the way she tucked her hair behind her ears when she was frustrated.

"Keep dreaming." Rigsby turned towards Cho, disgruntled. He opened his mouth to retort, decided against it and shut it again. Cho continued to stare at his computer screen, and without looking at him remarked "you look like a fish when you do that."

"Shut up" Rigsby muttered childishly. With a deep sigh, he swivelled on his chair, pondering for a moment. "Cho, do you think Grace loves me?"

"No."

Patrick sensed Grace Van Pelt was behind him before he even turned round. He busied himself with the kettle, making a great show of filling it up, carefully replacing it and flicking it on, before spinning round to survey her, the comforting sound of the kettle acting as a background against the silence that stretched between them.

Feeling the silence had gone on for too long, and feeling the silent cry occurring in the woman before him, Patrick pressed her; "Problem?"

Van Pelt regarded the man before her, smiling carefully, always watchful, never judgemental. She'd always respected him dearly, and he never gave her cause to doubt him. Believing as she did in spirits and the supernatural, he often infuriated her with his blasé attempts at indifference, but she'd always held him in high esteem. Unlike the others, when she first arrived on the team, he had resisted the urge to treat her with almost military professionalism, a la Cho, as if she were a wounded animal who needed doting upon, a la Rigsby, or even a la Lisbon, whose harsh tone and clipped professionalism meant it was almost impossible to relate to her. As much as she had come to like the other three, it was Patrick Jane who had taken her seriously from the start and never undermined her, and she hoped this would stand for something when she brought up the topic which was pressing on her mind.

"I'm worried about Lisbon." Van Pelt continued to worry at her lip, twisting her hands, clasping them together, and then releasing them; a routine of concern. Twist, clasp, release. Twist, clasp, release.

"Ah." Patrick made no attempt of comfort or reassurance, but simply stood watching her, waiting for her to continue, his empty cup and saucer balanced in his hands.

"I'm worried that because the girl's father was a drunk, and now he's a suspect.. it's just that.. well I'm worried that she might, well-"

"You're worried that the events of her past may influence her judgements of the case. Whether Mr McHearty is, or is not guilty." He continued to look at her, eyes twinkling.

"Well.. yes." She couldn't quite meet his eye.

"Are you doubting Lisbon's professionalism?" He teased her, enjoying her discomfort at speaking out against her boss, the woman she respected so much. He watched her as she stood in silent turmoil, her lack of words saying more than she ever could.

"No. Of course I'm not, but she's-" Catching Patrick's eye, Van Pelt sighed and turned to leave. "Forget it. I just think it's something we should keep in mind."

The room now empty; Patrick turned back towards the counter and poured his tea. He sipped it thoughtfully; his mind racing with the echo of Van Pelt's departing warning and his concern for the woman he feared he couldn't save.


	6. Chapter 5

_Um, about this chapter... I had meant to cover the whole of McHearty's questioning, but Jane and Lisbon got in the way and I went slightly off track. But it all helps towards the story. Absolutely no regrets. None at all. _

_Thank you for your lovely reviews, please keep them coming!_

Don McHearty sat in a blank, spacious room, glaring at the wall from which he knew his captors were watching him. He couldn't see them, but he could feel their accusatory stares- moments relived from the last time he had sat in a room like this. 24 years ago. Drunkenly driving his way down to the store to buy yet more alcohol from his daughter's savings had seemed like a good idea at the time. Colliding with another car and killing its occupant, a 34 year old woman, was never on the agenda. Sighing, he rubbed his hands over his worn face and felt the beginnings of a hangover pressing upon him. It had been a while since he'd had a drink, ever since that jumped up police officer shoved him into a holding cell he'd been suffering his withdrawal. It wasn't his fault he lashed out at that bitch of an agent. She was asking for it. All of them, barging into his house like that and presuming he'd killed his own daughter. Folding his arms, he leaned back in his chair so it rested only on the two back legs, stewing in his own self hatred and the hatred he felt for everyone and everything.

"Ready?"

Rigsby arranged his papers and looked over to Cho, who acknowledged his question with a curt nod. He pushed open the door into the room where McHearty was held captive and together they entered it, sitting themselves opposite the accused, who fixed them with a critical stare. Jane and Lisbon were left in the small room, overlooking the questioning via the one-way window. Glancing at Lisbon out of the corner of his eye, Patrick noticed she looked tense and uneasy, knuckles white from the iron-like grip of her mug of coffee. She stared intently into the room before them, fingers tapping the mug agitatedly.

"So, assaulting an officer of the law, huh?" Rigsby grimaced and leant forward across the table separating himself and Cho from McHearty. "You know you can get up to 5 years for that?"

Don McHearty surveyed him for a moment. "It were defence" he said finally. "She attacked me, the crazy bitch."

Narrowing his eyes, Rigsby leaned back and consulted with Cho for a few moments. McHearty sat there, as though bored, twisting his fingers repeatedly. Lisbon, from behind the glass, saw he kept throwing looks in her general direction. He obviously could not see her, but she felt uneasy all the same.

Feeling a prod in her lower back, she was startled from her reverie to find Patrick in close proximity to her. While she had been transfixed by the drunken mess sat in front of her, Patrick had approached her from behind and whispered playfully in her ear.

"How come he can call you a crazy bitch but I can't?"

Whipping round to find the words with which to retort, Lisbon found herself staring at his good-natured expression, marvelling at how he managed to make light of a situation like this. Indeed, his lips were curved up, eyes alight, clearly humoured by her lack of response.

"If you're comparing yourself to a drunken law breaker then I've lost all hope with you" she retorted finally. Her weak comeback only caused his lips to curve wider, until his entire face was illuminated with a beam that honestly, made her go weak at the knees. She scowled at him, turning once more towards the room she was supposed to be surveying. He feigned innocence, drawing her attention to him once more. "Well who would you rather I compare myself to?"

"Don't bother comparing yourself to anyone. There's nobody quite like you, believe me." Her words hadn't meant to sound so intimate, but she thought she covered it pretty well with a narrowing of the eyes and an accusatory tone. However, that statement, intending to faze him, only caused him to move in front of her and scrutinize her face, which she was struggling to keep straight.

Battling with her facial muscles was a task Lisbon had undertaken many a time whilst in the presence of Patrick Jane. This time however, the odds were not in her favour and as she broke out into a reluctant smile, Patrick's triumphant smile said it all. He had won the battle of wills. Again. As always.

Getting closer still, Jane leant towards her and whispered in her ear. "But how would your heart cope if there was more than one person like me?"

Before she had time to even process what he had said, he had upped and left the room with a swift wink, leaving her brain befuddled and her heart thumping in her chest. Had he meant what she thought he meant? Or was he just referring to the many times she'd almost had a cardiac arrest in reaction to his inane methods and procedure? If he had meant what she thought he meant...

Did he know? Was he aware of the effects on her cardio vascular organ every time he so much as walked into the room? She hadn't made it obvious, but then, Jane had the most unfortunate eye for subtle body language. Was he aware that her confused feelings were getting stronger for him with every passing day? She had felt quite faint as he leant towards her, she could smell the musky cologne, feel his hair tickle her face as he had whispered to her...

"This is RIDICULOUS!" Don McHearty's yell of frustration shattered her thoughts. Allowing herself a wry smile, Lisbon quietly agreed. It was ridiculous. Okay, so she had feelings for her colleague. She could admit that to herself. She was an adult, and a professional, and she was never going to ACT on those feelings...

Watching Cho and Rigsby try to pacify McHearty, she turned her attention once more to the case. The familiar bitterness consumed her once more. She resented the man who had destroyed her family, she resented the fact that he had come out of prison with no remorse, and she resented the fact that she could no longer control her feelings for a certain Patrick Jane. She could no longer lie to herself, and that, she thought sullenly, she resented most of all.


	7. Chapter 6

_My my, this is going to be one looong chapter but I decided not to split it into two because of reasons. No Patrick for a while but this is where the story really starts to get exciting (hopefully.. maybe.. probably?) Anyway for those of you who felt Lisbon was becoming too weak, she really gets her fight back in this chapter, so don't you worry! _

_For those of you reviewing/favouriting/following/generally being great – LET ME LOVE YOU! Please continue doing so! I shall hopefully have a Jisbon filled chapter ready for you soon, so bear with ;-) _

_ALSO, __**LANGUAGE WARNING **__FROM VERY EARLY ON IN THIS CHAPTER. I've never sworn in a fanfic before (because I'm pure and innocent lololol) so I don't know if there's a disclaimer or something? Anyway, enjoy!_

Lisbon sighed heavily and leant her forehead against the cool glass in front of her. With Patrick Jane, her primary distraction, out of the room, she could concentrate on how the questioning was going. Not well, it seemed. McHearty appeared to be gesticulating wildly, aggressively, whilst Rigsby watched, concerned. Cho remained impassive, but Lisbon could see his thoughts flickering through his head, contemplating the situation, which had taken a turn for the worse.

"IT AIN'T ABOUT WHAT I'VE FUCKING DONE, IS IT?! IT'S ABOUT WHAT I 'AVEN'T DONE. AND I KNOW FER A FACT, IN MY OWN 'EAD, I 'AVEN'T KILLED ANYONE OR ANYTHIN', LEAST OF ALL MY OWN DAUGHTER. YOU COPS NEVER FUCKING LISTEN." He started to rise from his seat as Lisbon, feeling the situation was getting out of control, quickly entered the room.

"Listen sir, we've told you that anything you do or say may be used against you in a court of law. Don't make this worse for yourself" Rigsby rose out of his chair with a warning, glancing cautiously at his boss. But McHearty's attention was focused on her too, leering at her nastily from his standing position, not advancing, but poised for attack just the same.

"Ohhhhh, well look who's arrived. You're the bitch who got me here in the first place aren't ya?" He gave a gruff bark of a laugh that sent shivers down Lisbon's spine. Torn between resentment and wariness of this unpredictable time bomb, she could do nothing but stare out this man who looked at her so critically, as though she were a piece of meat.

Rigsby spoke again. "Sit down. You're in this room because you assaulted an officer of the law, _sir." _He spat the last word as though there was a nasty taste on his tongue, and Lisbon felt a surge of gratitude towards her colleague, her friend. This was quickly overtaken by a bubbling fury as McHearty smirked at her again, still upright, eyeing her up and down with a look of insane satisfaction on his face.

"She's quite pretty ain't she, really? Not a beauty, mind, but easy on the eye. Alright hair, grumpy expression though. Good figure. Probably good in a fight, eh?" He muttered all of this under his breath almost to himself, sneering slightly at his last comment. A mixture of the way this man was objectifying her and the fact that she could not put her mind straight to think what to do about it riled Lisbon until her fists clenched; an effort to prevent herself from punching him in the face. "_Good in a fight? I'll show the bastard 'good in a fight.'" _She gritted her teeth and prepared to strike.

McHearty, however, had taken a different angle. He suddenly sat back down on his chair, almost relaxed, casual. It was as though his crude outburst had never even occurred, and a peculiar quietness settled over the room. After a few minutes with no words being spoken, Cho, sensing that everything was under control, rose from his seat and left the room, leaving Rigsby and Lisbon alone with a man who stared up at them both, almost unseeing.

In this dreamlike state, McHearty watched Lisbon maddeningly as she paced the room, irritable. Thousands of thoughts flitted through her mind like She was in the same room as the man who had murdered her own mother and she was supposed to act civilised, like nothing had ever happened? Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by McHearty once again. This time his tone was sweet, almost innocent, but hiding something she couldn't quite make out. His words were disjointed and rambling, yet perfectly sane. The anthem of the evil.

"You look just like her y'know. Your mother. I ain't stupid. I weren't fully conscious at the time, mind, but I remember 'er face behind the wheel. I looked at the article enough times." He chuckled darkly, menacingly. "My five minutes of fame. An' you look jus' like her. Them eyes. I was the last thing she saw before..." he mimed a collision, smashing both hands together so the noise echoed around the room. He smiled proudly. "It were like a game. One o' them racing games you play on your tv. Smash. Gone. It's the eyes, ya know, when you see 'em it's like all the terror and all the fear in the world, an' for one second before they do, they realise they're gonna die, _Agent Lisbon. _Your mother. What was 'er name? I can't even remember." Another laugh, crude, joyless. "And when people die, when the light leaves their eyes. It's wonderful. Like a-"

He didn't have time to finish what he was going to say. He didn't have time to think. He didn't have time to act. Because Teresa Lisbon had lurched forward and hauled the man backwards off his chair, slamming his head onto the floor with a loud _crack_ using her foot and pinning him down, immovable. Rigsby's yell of "BOSS, DON'T!" rang in her ears but she chose to ignore him, pushing the face of this vermin further into the floor with the heel of her shoe, she shut out the world and focused on her hatred for the man she now had at her mercy.

Leaning over the man, who was doing his best to cower in a foetal position, Lisbon felt in control. She was calm, and she was collected for the first time in a long while. She had full and complete power over this filth, and she was determined to exert it. Her mind wasn't hazy anymore, but crystal clear. She bent down to him, removing her foot from his head and whispering into his ear so that Rigsby couldn't hear.

"Don't you _ever _talk about my mother again. Did you think I wouldn't realise? Did you think I'd forget? Did you think it'd be okay? Well I did realise. I never forgot, not for one _fucking _second. And-" she bent closer to him, so close she could smell the remnants of alcohol on his breath. "I'll make sure you're _never _okay again." She spat these last words into his ear, slowly, finally, before straightening and meeting Rigsby's horrified stare with her own insolent one. She was done.

She felt a presence behind her and wheeled round, expecting to face the comforting gaze of Patrick Jane, but was greeted only by the stern eyes of her boss. Hightower placed a firm hand on her shoulder and steered her away from Rigsby, McHearty and the mess she had created. Silently, she led the shaking woman through the corridor towards her office, seemingly oblivious to the confused stares of her colleagues.

Once in the office, Hightower motioned briefly for her to take a seat, and then sat opposite her, fixing her with a slight frown. Lisbon grasped the side of the chair and squeezed her eyes shut. This was it; she was going to lose her job. Everything she'd worked for would be over; she would never see her colleagues, her _friends_ again. Hightower's voice, softer than expected, broke the silence.

"What happened, Teresa?"

This lack of formality startled her. Meeting her boss' eyes, Lisbon saw warmth there, almost as if she was confiding in an old friend. It comforted her slightly, and she began to speak in a quivering voice.

"I'm not- I don't- I just... I lost control." Seeing Hightower's eyes narrow suspiciously, she added firmly "I'm not weak."

"I know you're not." Once again, that comforting voice. "I'm just trying to understand. I thought you had this under control. I thought I could trust you, of all people to take up a case so personal. I was told you could handle yourself better than most under pressure."

Lisbon's head snapped up. "Who told you that? I've never said that."

Smiling, Hightower confirmed her suspicions. "Patrick did. I called him into my office shortly after you took up the case. I asked him whether he thought you were up to it- he does, after all, know you better than most. He said to me, and I quote: "there's nothing Lisbon can't handle. Put her in front of a serial killer and she'd stay professional no matter what. She's the strongest person I know. She can cope with anything.""

She felt a familiar anger bubbling up inside her; she had long since lost the will to control it. Instead of being flattered at his judgement, she felt used, cheated, like a failure. She spoke through gritted teeth. "Well looks like he was wrong. I can't cope with everything, he overestimated me. You both did."

Hightower surveyed her thoughtfully over steepled fingers. "It appears so. Unlike Patrick to be of poor judgement but there we have it." She pondered for a moment.

Lisbon felt crushed under the weight of the expectations people held for her. She was always supposed to be the strong one, the one that people could rely on. Well this time she had failed. She was human, and she had made a mistake. Though looking back on it, she thought, she was satisfied with her actions. She was not surprised to find she didn't regret any of it.

Hightower's stern tone brought her back to reality. "You're off the case, of course. It would be unprofessional of me to do anything else" she added apologetically, seeing Lisbon's hopeless stare. "You'll need to deposit your badge and your gun before you leave. I don't want you in contact with any of the team. Revenge isn't always the answer, I'm afraid." She spoke almost regretfully, biting her lip, waiting for her reaction.

"No. You're right." Lisbon slung her jacket around her shoulders and headed for the door. "Revenge isn't the answer. Justice is." Swinging it open, she stood amidst the bustle of CBI headquarters. She had never felt more alone in her life.


	8. Chapter 7

_It has been so so so long and for that I am so so so sorry. I have had such lovely reviews for this fanfic and I never truly intended to abandon it, and I haven't finished the story yet, so I hope you'll forgive me for this VERY overdue chapter. Exams took over every aspect of my life, but for now at least, they are OVER. You guys deserve a bit more Jisbon in your life, and I hope this chapter ticks a couple of boxes for you. I'm not saying too much, mind. ;-) _

_AGAIN, I'M REALLY TRULY SORRY and I hope I can redeem myself. _

Patrick Jane arrived at Lisbon's home that night, he had no idea what to do or say. His usual flare for words and charm had vanished and in its place stood a man feeling almost as helpless as he had felt the night when Red John had ripped away the lives of his wife and child. Facing Lisbon's door now, he revisited the scene in his mind, almost mirrored exactly down to the way he stood, staring at the door, not wanting to believe what lay before him.

After several moments of silent struggle, he raised a fist and rapped smartly on the door. No reply. Silence. He sighed. He thought as much. Having being taken off the case, Lisbon's pride was in no fit state to occupy company. But company she had, and he would not leave until she responded.

"Lisbon? It's me. It's Jane. Come on, open the door."

The attempt to cajole her was futile, as he had expected. Knocking again, he sighed in frustration, running a hand through his curly hair and pondering his next move. She obviously was not going to answer the door- he had been a fool to even attempt it. Exasperated, he grasped the handle and pushed the door, hoping beyond hope that it would be unlocked, however unlikely.

When the door swung open, inviting him into the personal space of the woman who concealed so much, Patrick was confused. As an officer of the law the dangers of having her door unlocked at night should be obvious. Checking his watch, he saw the time: 23:38.

Stepping into her house, Patrick easily navigated his way through the rooms, looking for any sign of Lisbon or her whereabouts. Nothing. The space was tidy, no indication that Lisbon was even in the house at all. Yet she had to be, her door was unlocked.

He considered this as he climbed the stairs, heading towards her bedroom. He moved slowly, so as not to disturb her if she were asleep, and was once again reminded of what had awaited him the last time he had climbed stairs with such precision. Shaking these thoughts from his mind, he reached the landing and looked around. He had never been upstairs before. It seemed like almost an invasion of privacy, an intrusion. Patrick comforted himself with the assurance that they were more than colleagues, they were friends; they trusted each other. He cared for her, she knew that.

Surely she knew that? It was never said that he cared for her, it was always left unspoken. He thought it was better that way- he was never good at expressing his feelings and especially not to Lisbon, who would turn away at any sign of affection, almost as if she couldn't stand to be touched...

He knew that was wrong. He had comforted her, hadn't he, that day when she was assaulted by McHearty? He'd placed a hand on her back casually as she had recovered from the shock, as a means of support. She'd responded then, she'd sunk into him as if he were the only thing holding her together. She'd welcomed his touch then, but he doubted she'd remember that, and would deny it if it was ever brought up in the teasing fashion he used as a defence.

Pushing her bedroom door open, he was relieved to see that the walls were clean, no shiny red face glinting maliciously at him through the dark. He shuddered then; images of his wife and child haunted his dreams and affected his reality, it was stupid of him to even think of it. The room was dark, but through the gloom he could just about make out newspaper cuttings spread out all over the floor, and a figure huddled in the centre of them.

Lisbon's arms were wrapped around her knees and she clutched some of the articles in her hand. She had gone home with the intent to burn every single one she'd kept from when her mother was killed, but found herself lost in her memories and couldn't bring herself to do it. The whiskey she drank lay heavy and musky on her tongue, preventing her from protesting when Patrick prised the cuttings out of her hand and helped her onto the bed.

He smelt the alcohol, and his immediate reaction was fear. How much had she drunk? Was she even fully conscious? Helping her onto the bed, he noticed she still had use of her arms and legs, but she was numb to his touch. He sat next to her in the dark and waited for her to speak.

"I.. I don't usually do this." She gestured shakily around the room, to where the bottle of alcohol stood and the articles around it lay battered and worn on the floor. "This isn't normal for me.. I-I don't-"

"I know." She didn't have to say anymore. Teresa Lisbon was a woman of integrity and strength; she didn't turn to alcohol in times of crisis, she kept a cool head and a firm hand. He looked at her, vaguely outlined in the dark, and saw her eyes were desperate, almost pleading, begging him to understand.

"It was him, Jane. It was him. He was the man who killed my mother. I recognised him, I knew it, that first day when we went to question him I knew-" Her voice shattered and she broke eye contact with him. Patrick was unable to look away. "Five years he got. Five years and a new identity. As if her life was worthless, as if she didn't matter. I had to do something, I... I lost control." She sniffed then, silent tears rolling down her face.

Patrick reached over and touched her arm lightly. "Hey," he whispered. "Stop that." He reached for a light and the room was illuminated, her pale, tearstained face made visible. She attempted to right herself, angry for letting her emotions take over and making herself vulnerable. But his eyes were understanding and warm, and suddenly, she wanted to tell him everything.

"He abused me Patrick. My father. When she'd gone, there was nothing I could do. I had to look after my brothers, but it was difficult. I was so young, and I got things wrong. Burnt food, broken appliances, bad grades..." she faltered, and Patrick tentatively touched her shoulder. She responded by leaning into him, so he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kept it there, comforting her.

"When I got things wrong... he would turn on me. He used to drink so much, I- .. I don't think he knew what he was doing, it just happened and he had no way to stop himself." Patrick stayed silent, letting her say all the things she'd wanted to tell someone for such a long time. His other hand reached down and brushed the hair out of her face, brushing her cheek as he did so.

"It started out relatively small. He'd smack me, hit me, but the hits got harder and more frequent and soon I'd cry and shout at him to stop. When I cried he'd get angrier, he'd push me backwards so I fell, and he'd stand over me screaming at me to shut up, why wasn't I more like my mother? Why was I so useless?" Her tears had stopped by now, but there was a cold steel in her voice that unnerved Patrick, a frankness that relived the reality of her childhood, and it was terrifying.

"Once, I'd dropped a china dish that my mother had painted. She was into arts and she took so much pride in this little dish. I dropped it and it shattered and- He couldn't have realised what he was doing- It was a time when he drank so much- I don't think he meant to but I just-"

Patrick prompted her carefully, touching her cheek. "What did he do to you?"

Pushing away from him, Lisbon stood up and walked to the other side of the room. Patrick cursed himself inwardly. She'd started to open up to him, talk to him as if they were a little more than friends, confiding in him, and he'd ruined it with his impatience. His growing anger for Lisbon's father, this evil man grew inside him like a flame and it burnt down everything in its path. How dare this man hurt HIS Lisbon? What kind of man would do that?

Wrapped up in his thoughts, he failed to notice Lisbon undressing in front of him. She had turned away from him and was pulling off her jacket and t-shirt, exposing her bra and back. Patrick was in disbelief, not knowing whether to protest or not. He started to say something then faltered, awkwardly standing there; not knowing what was going on or why.

Before he could say anything, Patrick noticed a shadow on her back, vaguely triangle shaped, with a sharp tip pointing upwards towards her neck. Cautiously making his way towards her, he came up behind her and lightly traced the scar with his hand, which he saw from closer inspection, was a dark pinkish colour.

"What's this?" Ignoring her intake of breath, he placed his palm on the scar. It was bigger than his hand, and felt cool under his touch.

"That's what he did to me." She responded bluntly, no feeling in her voice. "When a hot iron comes into contact with your skin it burns through the flesh immediately. The longer the iron stays in contact with the skin, the more serious the damage. Three seconds was all it took."

Patrick couldn't speak. He couldn't comprehend the pain she must have gone through. His emotions bubbled up inside him until he felt as though he could either cry or kill someone. Completely overtaken by sheer devotion to this woman who had saved him so many times, he leant forward and pressed a light kiss to her shoulder. The intimacy of it caused her to spin round and pierce his eyes with her own, emotions returned. She stroked his face tenderly and whispered to him. "Please don't cry."

He wasn't even aware he was crying, but he was, tears flowing freely down his cheeks at the thought of the injustice, the cruelty. He clasped Teresa Lisbon to his body as if he would never let her go, and made a silent promise. _I promise you will never hurt like that again. I promise to keep you safe. I will protect you. I promise. _


End file.
